


Learning How to Share

by PMC



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Gentle Sex, M/M, Massage, Rough Sex, Soft sex, Sweat, Thomas' Anger is a pretty chill guy, Very Light Breathplay, light painplay, mention of tickling but no actual tickling, sex wrestling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23829535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PMC/pseuds/PMC
Summary: Deceit teaches Roman how to take care of the dark sides.Virgil first.  Soft and slow and sweet.Anger next. It's a game...but one Roman needs to win.(Surprisingly wholesome character explorations with a heavy Deceit hurt/comfort slant later on)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Deceit/Anger Sanders, Roman/Anger Sanders
Comments: 9
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Sort of AU where sex between friends and family is normalized, and it's typical for each person to have a day periodically where the focus is just on them and their particular needs. Deceit has always taken care of the dark sides' alone. Now he's teaching Roman, and Roman is determined to get things right. I'll add tags as I go, but this will include Anxiety/Roman, Roman/Anger, Roman/Sorrow, and yes, Roman/Remus. I will list the relevant tags at the chapter notes and PLEASE HEED THE TAGS. Virgil is a simple sort, but this is going to get...messy...later on. I mean extreme other end of the spectrum from this first chapter.)
> 
> Also includes a surprising amount of Deceit angst and hurt/comfort. Really more of a character study then good smut. 
> 
> Tags for this chapter: anal fingering, soft and gentle, aftercare, mostly non-verbal Virgil (he's a quiet boy during sexy times), light anxiety during sex
> 
> (Yes, I am aware of the duplication glitch! Two of my fics have it. Interestingly when it duplicates it usually reverts to an older version and often duplicates the chapter notes.)

“Soft and slow and sweet.” Deceit's voice is low and hushed and just a little teasing. “He's a sensitive soul, our Virgil.”

*Our* Virgil. It's new still and terrifying. The division between them- all of them- is fracturing, and Roman so badly wants to get this right.

He's in awe, still, that Deceit had chosen him to be first. That Virgil had agreed. It's heady, but heavy too, knowing that he represents Logan and Patton as well as himself. Deceit had thought it would be too much, the three of them at one time. He's to report back, to help the others learn what he's being privileged to know, and so it's Roman, just Roman, here in the quiet, dim bedroom.

...three may have been too much, but Roman isn't sure that just Roman is **enough**.

“Soft and slow and sweet,” Deceit says again in a sigh. He pulls Virgil a little closer, soothing him with whispered words when he frets.

Virgil is...he's beautiful like this. Curled up tight against Deceit's side and half in his lap, all that lovely skin pale in the gentle dusk light. (Even the light, soft- it seems to drift, seems to eddy like snow, and when it settles on Virgil's cheekbones it takes Roman's breath away.) His eyes are closed. His face is still, and next time Roman wants to be the one who gentles him, who brings Virgil down to this space where he can rest.

“He likes to be held,” Deceit goes on, “Firmly, so he can feel it.” And indeed his arms are everywhere, stroking along Virgil's bare flanks, rubbing circles on his back, or simply just holding, cradling the other man until he must feel utterly surrounded. Kept. Safe. Roman will have to find a way to mimic it, as best he can.

And so it goes, for a time. Deceit simply holds Virgil, and Virgil lets himself be held, lets himself be touched. Roman thinks that if that were the whole of it he would be utterly content. Now and again Deceit hums, low and rumbling. Mutters little things, 'soft' and 'slow' and 'sweet', dropping it into the cadence of a song.

Until...

“Come closer.” Deceit does not look at Roman. All of his focus is on Virgil, his brow furrowed deep. He's nervous too, Roman realizes. It must never get easier, having responsibility for something so precious.

Roman stands from his chair and moves around the couch to stand where Deceit indicates. He's quiet, a little Roman mouse, but still Virgil shifts uneasy, one eye opening to find him. Roman smiles, and Virgil's lips twitch before that eye drifts closed again. He snuggles that much closer, pressing an idle kiss against Deceit's throat that makes him shiver.

One of Deceit's lower arms lifts. He's clothed still, Deceit, right down to the bowler, but his gloves are tighter now, latex instead of cloth. He snaps his fingers (muffled, and Roman knows he will have to pay attention to that, the little things) and his fingers glisten under the strange, drifting light.

“Use more then you think you need,” he says, “And remember...”

“Soft and slow and sweet,” Roman says with him, and watches with absolute concentration as Deceit circles Virgil's hole.

He doesn't penetrate, not for a long time. Just rubs that little furl with the pads of his fingers. Coaxing it to soften, drifting higher sometimes to rub the smooth, tender skin behind Virgil's balls. Time, Roman thinks. Time will be the important thing, so that Virgil never feels rushed, never feels scheduled, a burden to be fit in between others.

Deceit keeps at it until that tiny hole pulses. He stills then, finger pressing in to feel the want growing there. “You see?” he asks Roman.

Roman nods. Deceit clicks again, considers, then again, until his fingers drip with it. He presses into Virgil slowly and smoothly, with such care there must be scarcely any burn. Rocks his wrist, the pattern rhythmic and deliberate. Nothing to guess at, and that's key Roman thinks. Consistency.

Virgil sighs. His hips are beginning to move, ever-so-slightly, pressing back against Deceit's hand. His head drops lower and he mouths at Deceit's collarbone, sucking at the cloth covering it until it darkens.

It's a long, long time before Deceit give him two. Virgil whines when it happens, face scrunching a little and hips moving faster. Deceit's knuckles rub at his taint, but he ignores Virgil's cock entirely. It curves up against his stomach, the tip of it just barely clearing the foreskin and pearling with fluids. They share the same cock, of course, but it looks so much prettier on Virgil.

Deceit is muttering again. Nonsense words, mostly, little half-songs and whispered promises that Roman knows he's not meant to hear.

“Just this,” he tells Roman, “He'll do most of it himself.”

And Virgil is working for it, grinding filthy and lovely back against those pumping fingers. There's a flush rising at his cheeks. A hint of sweat at his brow, and Roman watches with something twisting bitter in his chest.

He could have had this **years** ago. They've wasted, all of them, so much damn time.

But even as his hips move Virgil is going tense. Biting at his lip, throwing his head back, and something in it suggests more panic then pleasure. He whines again. His hands curl in Deceit's cloak, white-knuckled and pleading.

“He's alright,” Deceit says when Roman steps forward, “It's the loss of control...it scares him. Just let him know you're there.”

He follows his own instructions, arms tightening around Virgil and bending to layer kisses on his blushing cheeks.

“You can let go,” he says, “I have you. Don't fight it, raindrop. I've got you...”

Virgil's hand shoots down to grip Deceit's wrist, holding the man's hand steady as he rides his fingers. Not soft and slow and sweet anymore but quick and hard. He groans and his cock flexes, spilling a blurt of cum that trails down its length.

Deceit milks him through it, then pulls his fingers free (so, so slowly, so gently) and goes back to circling until Virgil slumps against him, lax and boneless. He gives him a moment longer, then eases out from under him, flexing his wrist and shushing Virgil when he whimpers.

“Water.” Deceit has to help Virgil drink, little sips only, stopping him from gulping when he tries. “Make sure he's clean and dry.” A sin-soft terrycloth and a dab of ointment to the reddened pucker, just in case. “Blankets-” A heap of them, and a Virgil-burrito was everything Roman had never known he wanted. “-and don't forget Ana.”

Deceit offers the plush spider, grinning fondly when it's grabbed and dragged into the bundle. “He'll sleep, now,” he says, “You'll need to stay...”

He gives Roman a sharp look at that.” “Of course!” Roman protests, a touch too loudly, but **really**. Why in the world would he ever want to leave?

Deceit eyes him. He seems satisfied with what he sees and turns away, wriggling his way back behind Virgil and spooning him tight. Virgil is already out, snoring in the most endearing way.

(It occurs to Roman, quite suddenly, that he might possibly be just a little bit in love.)

He stands awkward for a moment. Lesson over, but...

Deceit rolls his eyes. “What are you waiting for?”

Roman brightens and scrambles to join them. It's a tight fit, and it feels odd, to lay across from Deceit and watch his eyes blink drowsy over Virgil's tousled hair. Deceit himself looks almost insultingly unruffled, though he at least deigned to set aside the hat.

“Keep the lights on,” Deceit whispers, “He'll...he'll leave when he wakes. Try not to take it personally. He doesn't like to feel vulnerable.”

Roman could feel the hurt of that already, but he nods and tries to smile. “Thank you.” The smiles grows into a smirk. “...raindrop?”

Deceit's scowl was not nearly so impressive now that Roman had watched him handle Virgil with such care. “He'd kill me if I said it any other time.” He pauses, looking Roman over again, the slit pupil of his snake eye gone thin and hard as a blade. “Don't fuck this up. I'll remind you I know where you sleep.”

The threat seems sincere enough, but it makes Roman grin, just a little. Because- **did** Deceit know where he slept? Once the answer would have been easy- Roman's own room, with its lush and lonely bed, or with one of the other lights. But there was Virgil now, and soon the others...

...there were so many more options now, and Roman is **delighted** by it.

Deceit leans up over Virgil and swats at him. “Stop smirking and go to sleep,” he grumbles, “Tomorrow won't be so easy.”

Roman is still grinning as he closes his eyes.

(Later- Deceit would be there, the first few times, hovering and correcting and insulting, until finally he pronounced Roman ready to go it alone.

The first time- it hadn't gone perfectly, not by any means. Roman had forgotten to muffle the click when he snapped his fingers, making Virgil jump a mile and slam his foot into Roman's shin. It had been clumsy and awkward, trying to both finger and hold him. Both of them had been nervous, and Roman's fingers had gone numb long before Virgil relaxed enough to climax. And Roman **had** forgotten Ana, for a moment at least.

It hadn't gone perfectly...but it had still been perfect. And best of all?

When Roman woke, Virgil was there, watching him with lazy, hooded eyes.

Best of all?

Virgil **stayed**.)


	2. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: weirdly friendly rough sex, pain play, light breathplay, sex wrestling, size kink, mention of tickling but no graphic description of such, sweat
> 
> (Yes, I am aware of the duplication glitch! Two of my fics have it.)

“It's just a game,” Deceit tells him. He pauses. Smirks. “More or less.”

He leans in close to pat Roman's cheek, and that smirk is a devilish twitch that promises trouble.

“...still, best you play to win.”

* * *

It once pained Roman to admit it, but Thomas was not a particularly original child.

Roman himself stands as testimony. The teller of tales is himself a copy of a copy. Cribbed whole cloth from the movies Thomas watched on repeat as a boy, movies that in turn were based on older, darker fables.

His logic a teacher, his temptation a snake. There's little mystery to any of them, but Roman has made his peace with that. Has come to accept that building atop the scaffolding on the old can be a worthy part of creating something new. Whatever their makings, they have each made theirselves their own.

His morality a father, his anxiety an edgelord emo. His anger?

A bully jock, straight from every 80s afterschool special. Sen's tracksuit is an assault, an intensity of orange neon that punches the eye. They all share the same body, of course, but he holds himself broad. Chest out, shoulders back, hands fisted to showcase the tendons in his arms. Sen breathes through his mouth as he watches them approach, brows beetled tight over mismatched eyes.

The left is Thomas', warm brown and pleasant. The right is darker, rich mahogany, the iris leaving only a thin strip of white around the edges. A grizzly's eye, and it suits him.

“Ro!”

Roman laughs as he's swept into a hug that lifts his feet from the floor. Sen spins them round and round, letting go with an abruptness that has Roman staggering.

“Look at you slumming it!” Sen's grin is wide and sharp, a glittering of fangs. “Ready to watch me put down a snake?”

Deceit rolls his eyes. Snaps, and the room shifts and stretches. Becomes something like a gym, a wide open space with a thickly cushioned floor. Snaps again, and his complicated grab is replaced by something more form-fitting, a sort of long-sleeved leotard with a tastefully muted scales motif down one side. Still gloved, of course, and for perhaps the first time Roman wonders at that. 

Sen simply strips bare. Efficient and shameless, tossing that blazing tracksuit away to puddle against the wall. He makes a production of stretching, twisting side to side and bending double to touch his toes.

Show-off.

Finished, he bounces on the balls of his feet. His cock bounces with him, already thick and ruddy. It looks impatient, that cock, fat-tipped and vaguely threatening.

Deceit passes Roman his hat for safekeeping. “You may wish to give us some room.”

Roman feels his cheeks burn hot as he scrabbles back. Even so he's careful with the bowler, gripping it gentle by the rim. Silly, probably, but it feels like it means something. Offered up casually, with easy trust that Roman will see it safe.

Sen and Deceit circle each other. Take each others' measure with little feints and dodges, and Sen's grin widens to show lush pink gums.

Deceit doesn't smile. He's focused, the pupil of his snake eye pulsing slow. He spins aside when Sen lunges for him, and the grace in it surprises Roman.

He's not quite so lucky a second time. Sen catches him around the belly and takes him to the mat with force enough to drive the air from Deceit's lungs. Sen's triumphant growl ends in a gasp when Deceit hooks a leg behind his knee and topples him in turn.

And now the real battle begins.

It's a little like wrestling, Roman thinks as the pair grapple and roll across the mat. But only a little, because let's face it...the closest Thomas ever got to the circle was cheering on his brother in high school. Certainly the moves aren't regulation, what with the hair pulling and decidedly unorthodox groping.

Deceit holds his ground. Gives as good as he gets, and that's impressive, really, or maybe just unexpected. Deceit is slick, he's sly...but strong? Roman has been underestimating him, and that's only to Deceit's credit.

Still, he's tiring. Starting to breath hard, and there's a bright, high flush at his nape.

Sen, on the other hand, looks fresh as a daisy and like he's having the time of his life. He snaps playful at Deceit's cheek and laughs wild when Deceit jams a hand under his chin and pushes him back.

Deceit just looks a little grim and a whole lot sweaty. Roman can smell the rising musk of them both, and it's not at all unpleasant.

For Sen, it's all a game. For Deceit...

 _'(Best you play to win,'_ he'd told Roman.

Because Sen needed the challenge, he'd gone on to explain. Needed that release, needed to feel his heart pound and his muscles strain.

But even more...he needed to know that Deceit **could** win, if it ever came down to it. Needed to know that he would not be allowed to run wild.)

...a responsibility.

Sen has him pinned. Flat on his back, snarling in his face. Roman is starting to wonder if he should step in when Deceit wraps his legs around Sen's waist and pulls hard to the side, making them both tumble. What happens next is a blur, flashquick as the strike of a snake. It ends with Sen in a chokehold, arm pulled behind his back and held by the wrist.

Deceit leans over him. Uses all of his weight to press Sen down into the mat and holds tight through the bucking and thrashing. When Sen finally tires himself out Deceit rises up enough to grind against his ass.

Point made, Deceit eases up just slightly. “Pause,” he rasps.

Sen obligingly stills. Drops his head, heaving hard, and the sweat drips from his chin to patter to the mat. That ridiculous grin is wider then ever, stretching his cheeks taunt.

He's lost, and he couldn't look happier.

Thus far Deceit has confined himself to only the standard number of limbs. Now he sprouts a multitude, stretching each in turn. He slides one hand between Sen's cheeks. Wiggles out the plug there slow and easy and tosses it aside with the same disregard Sen had shown his tracksuit. It lands with a meaty, lub-soaked squelch, and Roman tries not to gawk at the size of the thing.

Deceit uses another hand to slap Sen's flank, drawing a delightful shiver. “Pause is a temporary stop,” he tells Roman, “Take my advice and don't try penetration without it.”

Sen giggles. It takes Roman a moment to understand, and he winces when he does. Trying to aim for a moving target sounds like an excellent way to jam his cock against something quite a bit less yielding. Roman sometimes enjoyed a bit of pain with his pleasure, but accidentally breaking his dick isn't something that interests him.

“Noted,” he says.

Deceit snaps and grimaces deeply. Making himself bigger? Shapeshifting into someone else entirely was a trivial thing for most of the sides, but reshaping their own bodies could be a bit uncomfortable. Especially the intimate bits. Like sliding on someone else's shoes, too loose or too tight or just not quite right.

(Logan had a theory about it. Something about the mind/body map and sexual development. It had all gone a bit over Roman's head, truth be told.)

Deceit snaps again, reconfiguring his leotard so it opens at the groin. Roman catches only a glimpse before Deceit snaps his hips forward.

Nothing soft and slow and sweet about it. Sen howls, pushing back as Deceit drives into him. With one arm still held behind his back he's unsteady, and soon enough he folds the other and drops his chest down, biting idle at his own bicep. When he threatens to draw blood Deceit tightens the chokehold, earning a gurgle that manages to sound positively elated.

Sen, it seems, likes quite a bit more pain then Roman.

He can see that Deceit is being careful, though. He still has that look of deep concentration, leaning just a little to the side so he can see Sen's face. And what a sight! Tongue lolling, eyes screwed shut, the veins standing high at his temples. Sen is most definitely getting the work-out he wanted.

But it puts Deceit just a little off-balance, that lean. Sen takes advantage by lurching up suddenly. Deceit hits the mat on the back, and before he has a chance to get his bearings Sen is looming over him. Catches the upper arms by the wrists and ignores the others.

Deceit, it seems, can be trusted not to cheat.

“Pause,” he huffs. Both of them are panting and the sweat has matted their hair down flat.

Deceit goes lax. Well, almost. His cock curves toward his stomach, and bigger is one word for it. Generous might be more fitting. If Sen's cock had looked threatening before then Deceit's imagined one looks positively dangerous.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sen says when he sees Roman's expression, “So this bear's a bit of a size queen, so what?”

“No judgment!” Roman is quick to reassure, “You do you, Ursa Sexy.”

Sen snorts. “How long did it take you to come up with that one?”

Roman is saved from having to admit he spent an hour last night trying to come up with bear themed nicknames when Deceit wiggles. “Could we possibly move this along?”

He half expects Sen to reverse their roles entirely. Instead he throws a leg over Deceit and straddles him. Transfers both his wrists to one hand and reaches back to hold that monster of a cock steady while he sinks down onto it.

Sen rolls his hips in a filthy deep grind. Groans with a rumble Roman feels in his belly. He leans forward so he can rub his cock across Deceit's leotard, smearing sticky strings of precum across the black fabric. He takes himself in hand and tugs with a twist over the head, head tipping back as his hips work faster.

“You'll have to discuss limits,” Deceit tells Roman. Calm as anything, like he isn't being ridden into the floor. “It can make things a bit uneven, but there's no help for that. For example...”

Roman is ready for it, this time. He can't blame Sen for waiting to touch himself, but it means he's still holding Deceit's wrists with only one hand. It's Deceit's turn to wrench free and rear up. Sen shakes himself out of his daze and tries to block him, but it's too late. Deceit punches him in the pec with one hand and grips him by the balls with the other.

**Squeezes.**

Sen howls again. Really more of a yowl, high and breaking. In one smooth motion Deceit is pressing him back, still impaled, hooking Sen's knees over his shoulders and working him hard. Sen's back arches and his cock jumps as he cums with a noise more animal then human.

“Yield,” he whispers when he has the air for it. Deceit eases back, turning a little away from them both to snap twice. Sen giggles like a drunk.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, and Roman nods in fervent agreement.

Sen is still laid out flat on his back, but Deceit staggers up to his feet, wavering off Roman's offer of assistance. “As I was saying...” He's back in his usual outfit already, taking pains to settle the caplet just so. “...I myself do not enjoy such rough handling. Sen, however...”

He glances down to solicit the other side's opinion. Nudges him with a loafer when he's slow to respond.

“Holy **fuck** ,” Sen says again, and Deceit nods, taking it as his due.

“He does prefer to reserve it for the later stages of the match.” Deceit is still out of breath but trying very hard to pretend that he's not, snatching little gulps of air between words. “Things would be over rather quickly otherwise.”

Roman steps closer to offer Deceit his bowler. “That was...” He shakes his head, chewing at his lip as he tries to find words for it. “I'm not sure...I mean, I **want** to, I just...”

He startles a bit when Sen curls a warm hand around his ankle. “Hey...” He waits for Roman to look at him, and his smile now is small and kind despite the jutting canines. “No worries. I'll take good care of you.”

Deceit hums. “And now let's get **you** taken care of. Ready to get up?”

Sen needs a little help levering himself off the mat, but he's surprisingly steady on his feet, considering.

Deceit snaps the room back to its usual state (and goes a little pale as he does...manipulation takes energy, and the side has to be exhausted already.)

“Drink.” Deceit has Gatorade waiting on ice, and Sen only whines a little when he stops him from outright chugging it.

Next there's lukewarm shower to rinse away the sweat and cum. Then a bath to soak the muscles, and Sen is starting to balk. Roman is ready for a nap just from **watching** , so it baffles him that Sen seems more peppy then ever.

“He'll run off if you let him.” Deceit pushes Sen back down into the tub for the fifth time with the nonchalance of someone just about done with life, the universe, and everything. “But he'll crash soon enough. He's passion, remember...he'll burn himself out if you aren't careful.”

Ah. Roman can sympathize. He's passion too, of a sort, and he supposes this isn't all that different from the giddy high he gets after an all-night writing session.

Bath done, Deceit bullies Sen up to bed. Insists on checking him for damage...he's a little red and swollen, but nothing a bit of balm and a good night's sleep won't fix.

Deceit lifts a hand. Motions to snap...

Roman catches him by the wrist. “What do you need?”

Deceit eyes him for a moment before capitulating with good grace. “Thinner gloves and massage oil. Almond would be preferred.”

“I'm **fine** ,” Sen gripes, but he's laid out on his belly and Deceit is sitting on his ass and he's not going anywhere. “I don't...”

He cuts off with a groan when Deceit goes to work. He's methodical, using all six arms to work out every knot and strain. Sen's grunts and breathy little gasps make Roman uncomfortably aware of his own arousal. He could take care of it, he knows, but he's trying to be a good student. He's here to learn, not enjoy himself. 

As rough as Deceit had been earlier he's gentle now. Petting as much as massaging, soothing Sen down until his eyelids are fluttering. By the time Deceit has him roll over Sen is nearly boneless. Still Deceit takes his time here too, until finally he works his way down to Sen's feet, smiling a little when the side flexes into it even in his sleep.

“...he needs a bit of pampering, now and again,” he confides over Sen's rolling snores, “He's not as tough as you might think. He is **Thomas'** anger, after all...”

Roman laughs a little at that. “No, I know.” He'd always gotten on with Sen. Of all the dark sides, Sen was...well, he was the easiest. Uncomplicated. Anger tended to be a straightforward thing, and so Sen was a straightforward kind of guy. Roman suspected he was a dark side more because of what he **could** do and Sen's own desire to avoid it than any overt rejection by Thomas. “You...that was a damn good show you put on. I'm pretty sure I'm going to get my ass kicked.”

Deceit finishes and pulls the sheet up to cover Sen. “No blanket, he runs hot,” he says almost absently, “It's better if you win, but it's fine if you lose. Especially at first. If you need to, fight dirty. Trust me, he won't mind.”

“Fight dirty?” Roman asks.

Deceit's smirk returns, and oh yes, there's trouble there. “He's ticklish, you know.”

* * *

Roman loses the first bout.

And the second.

(Though there's something to be said for it. Sen rides him to the finish in the first and plows him rough in the second, and Roman comes away with a few bruises and absolutely no complaints.)

He suspects he only wins the third because Sen takes pities on him.

But he wins the fourth honestly. More or less. (It feels a little underhanded, taking Deceit's advice, but to say it was effective would be an understatement.)

And little by little, Roman improves. He learns his own strength, and takes real pride every time he gets Sen on his back. ' _I have you,'_ he tells him without words, ' _I have you, and I can keep you if I need to.'_ A heady thing, for both of them, to know that it was true.

But mostly they laugh, and they fuck, and as games go...

It just might be one of Roman's favorites. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and we're at the point where we're starting to get a little weird, I think?
> 
> In this chapter: Sensory play, sensory deprivation (with an actual sensory deprivation tank), blindfolds, ear plugs, temperature play, Wartenberg wheel, nipple clamps, sounding, anal fingering and anal sex, edging, brief description of claustrophobia, safe word use, *excruciatingly detailed descriptions of a cicada* (no actual insect appears in the story). Still somehow more of an earnest character piece than anything, I think. 
> 
> (If anyone reads this oddity, any guesses as to Annae's animal?)
> 
> (Yes, I am aware of the duplication glitch! Two of my fics have it, I don't know why and I can't fix it)

“I have to admit,” Roman says, “This one is new to me.”

The water cradles him, blood warm and sturdy with salt; Roman couldn't sink if he wanted to. He can scarcely tell where his skin ends and the water begins, and it's a wee bit disconcerting.

Deceit peers down at him, upside down from Roman's perspective and looking far too amused. “Ready for the rest?”

Roman nods. A snap and there's a blindfold over his eyes. Another, and his ears are covered by something that deafens them completely. The suddenness of the loss makes him jolt, but Deceit's hand is on his shoulder, a grounding touch. He waits for Roman to relax before withdrawing, giving one last little pat along the way.

At first it's...nice. Calming, though Roman struggles to find anything arousing in it. He floats in the silent dark and watches the colors bloom behind his eyelids. He's always wished he could find a way to paint them, that deep, deep purple and not-quite-red he can never quite find a match to. Gradually he becomes aware of a whooshing sound; his pulse, he realizes, and something like unease crawls down his spine.

He tries to shift. The water resists, and he goes from coddled to confined in an instant. The whooshing is getting louder, a tidal thrum that threatens to sweep him out to sea.

“Red.”

Roman can't hear his own voice, but he can feel the vibration of it in his throat. An instant later the water is gone and he can see and hear again.

Deceit helps him sit up. Rubs gentle at his back while Roman gathers himself.

“Oh,” he says when he can, “Oh, I did not like that **at all**.”

Deceit grimaces. “Apologies. Many people find it pleasant, but it can be overwhelming.”

“Don't apologize,” Roman tells him, “You never know until you try, right? But I thought the idea was to get Annae **out** of his own head for a bit.”

Deceit still looks a little guilty, but when Roman moves to stand he doesn't stop him. Even manages a smirk, though it lacks a bit of that devilish flair.

“Watch and learn,” he says, and Roman intends to do just that.

* * *

“Your list?” Deceit asks.

“Our tree at the college. Remember?” Annae fiddles with his ears as he speaks, rubbing the soft gray fur between his fingers. “The one Thomas would study under?”

Roman nods. Their own little spot, and Thomas had felt so grown-up, with his laptop and his coffee and **his place.**

Sitting this close to Annae, he can feel the ache of it. Those summer days long distant. The potential before them, the sense that Thomas was only just beginning. At the same time the sense that he had been found, no longer a nebulous child but solid in his skin.

“Sorry,” Annae whispers when Roman sighs soft, “I'm not so good at the bedroom talk.”

There was a time not long distant when Roman would have argued. Would have insisted Annae was sexy, smoldering, a vision in gray. Or, conversely, hastened to reassured him that he didn't need to be those things.

“I'm so happy I get to share this with you today,” he says instead, “Thank you for trusting me.”

Sex is not the only thing Roman has been learning. He's been watching how Deceit handles Sen's anger, Virgil's fear, Annae's sorrow. Patiently, calmly. Poking and prodding when needed, offering comfort when they could tolerate it, but never feeding into the spiral.

Annae is delicious when he blushes. Even the insides of his ears flush vivid, the pinkish-purple darkening to mauve.

Those ears hang long, framing Annae's tired face. His hair is a black, touseled stripe that hangs forward in a tangled forelock and extends far down his nape. Like all the dark sides, his eyes are mismatched. The iris on the left is brown; on the right it's black and blends into the pupil.

No tail...small mercy, in Annae's own opinion, though Roman thinks he might have found it cute.

(...no, Thomas was most certainly not an original child.)

“Your list?” Deceit asks again. The tank looms behind him, a solid presence that makes Roman shiver.

Annae closes his eyes. Hums a tune Roman half remembers. “The sunlight on the grass,” he says, “The corner table at the library, the one with the pride sticker on the edge. The Frisbee players shouting on the quad...”

The ache is heavy now. Still it's not altogether unpleasant. It's a soft sort of regret, a want for something that already was.

Sorrow, perhaps more than any other emotions, has flavors. Devastating grief. Crushing apathy.

Gentle melancholy.

Deceit hums back the rest of the melody. “Lovely,” he says softly, and he sounds like he means it, “But something from today, if you could?”

Annae curls himself a little tighter. Squeezes his eyes shut until it looks painful, and the part of Roman that plays the prince itches to step in. To list off everything good and pure he knows.

A sharp look from Deceit quells him. It's a good few minutes before the tension in Annae's shoulders eases.

“...Thomas saw a cloud that looks like a rabbit,” he offers. Squints open an eye to check for a reaction, and relaxes further when they nod. “He got to pet a dog?”

He falters again, clearly searching for something, anything, else to add. Brightens suddenly, lips quirking in a smile.

“There was a cicada. On the side of the house.”

“The cicada, then.” When Annae opens his eyes Deceit offers his hand. Pulls him up off the couch and leads him to the tank of salt water.

“Ready?”

Annae frets. Sneaks a glance at Roman, and he's playing with his ears again, running the length of them through his fingers.

“We can do something else,” he says, “Something easier.”

Deceit laughs that off. “What could be easier? You'll be doing all the work.”

Roman steps forward. He can feel Deceit's eyes on his back, but he makes no move to intervene. Trusting Roman, then, with something infinitely more precious then his hat, and it makes something warm and anxious coil in his belly.

“Can I help you get settled?” he asks.

It's a little awkward, sure, but he doesn't do a terrible job of it. Soon enough Annae floats on his back, arms lax at his sides. The tank is a decent size, but not so large they can't reach him easily while sitting on the side.

“Ready for the rest?” Deceit asks, as he had with Roman.

The blindfold is a thick, heavy thing, the earplugs large and chunky. Deceit fusses briefly with their fit before sitting back on his heels.

“This part may take a bit,” he says.

For ten minutes Annae drifts. Sometimes his breath hitches like he's on the cusp of tears. Sometimes he mumbles, indistinct and unintelligible.

Deceit uses the time to talk about the tank itself. How it is based on something real, but isn't quite, of course. The water thicker, more of a gel. The salt in it will not sting. The temperature would adjust itself as Annae heated up or cooled down.

All this Roman already knows, but he's found that Deceit finds comfort in repetition. He's a methodical creature, Deceit. Roman himself is far more mercurial, and he thinks it should chafe, the way Deceit so carefully lays out his plans.

Instead he listens avidly, and finds new appreciation for structure and routine.

Deceit finishes detailing the design of the blindfold (no seams, nothing to chafe or catch) and nods to Annae. “There. See?”

Roman doesn't at first. Annae is still in the same position. “ **Look** ,” Deceit urges him when he says as much.

Annae breathes slowly, evenly. Once he mutters something, but the tone of it is slow, almost slurred. His face is still, the lines of worry smoothing out to something placid.

“Now we begin,” Deceit says.

He doesn't touch Annae directly at first. Just slides his hand through the gel at his side, swirling it a little to make it wobble. Annae doesn't flinch, doesn't jolt, just fills his lungs with a deep, even breath and nods just slightly.

Deceit drags his gloved fingertips up Annae's ribs. Across his belly, making him shiver and suck in. Up to his chest, thumbing briefly at a nipple before patting twice at his shoulder.

A signal, Roman knows.

“The cicada,” Annae says. Not a whisper, but soft and a little distant. “Perched right there next to the doorbell.”

Another pat; acknowledgment. Deceit drags his hand back down. Tweaks at Annae's nipples until they pebble, then leans close to blow hot across them. Pats twice.

“Green!” Annae says on a gasp, “Just...just the head. The prettiest soft green.”

Deceit pats once. Turns it into firm strokes, working his way all the way down Annae's legs and back up again, ignoring his groin along the way. He clicks to summon rubber-tipped clamps, holding them up for Roman's inspection before closing them slow on those pretty pink tits.

“The base, not the tip,” he says as he does, “It's more about sensation for him, not pain.”

Annae tries to both arch into the pressure and away. Had the water been real it would have sloshed, left him unbalanced and uneasy. The almost-gel holds steady, lets him move without the risk of sinking or swamping himself, and the unreality of it is something Roman knows takes focus.

Deceit pats twice.

“Oh.” He's sensitive, Annae. Gorgeously so. They're only just getting started, and he's already starting to thicken. “Um...his back was brown. The green just flowed into it...”

Deceit pats. Clicks. The thing that he summons looks wicked, a wheel of spikes on a short handle. He motions for Roman to offer his arm, running it up his wrist and then across his palm so he can feel the difference. A heavier touch might have drawn blood, but Deceit uses only enough pressure to make it tingle and prickle.

“Wartenberg wheel,” he explains, “I prefer you not to use it until you've had adequate practice, but it can be quite effective.”

Roman feels his own skin shrivel in sympathy when Deceit uses it on the sole of Annae's foot. He does jolt this time, leg curling up and toes crunching, but Deceit captures his ankle and gives no mercy.

Before he had given the signal during a break between one sensation and the next. This time he uses another hand to pat twice at Annae's leg even as he teases him sweetly.

“Oh! It's...” Annae gurgles a gasp when Deceit brings another hand and wheel into play on his free foot. “Squiggles! Its back. Like...oh!...hieroglyphs. The deepest, richest brown...”

“Understand?” Deceit asks Roman as he pats once and eases off a bit.

Roman nods, mouth gone desert dry.

Deceit, he realizes as he watches, is an **artist**.

He draws the most exquisite noises from Annae. Gasps and groans and muffled squeals.

“ _It's about sensation_ ,” he'd told Roman.

Deceit rubs ice on Annae's blood-dark nipples. Holds cold water in his own mouth and kisses him deep. Drips wax in scrolling curves across his entire body. Traces a feather across the insides of his ears. Slaps at his thighs with a curved palm, just hard enough to rouse a mild sting.

“Look,” he tells Roman. He points out the way Annae's muscles pull taunt when he's tickled. The way the goosebumps lift the hair on his arms. The flush that starts on his cheeks and spreads down his chest. The soft pink spreading around the edges of the wax.

Roman knows this body they share. He lives in it, after all. But through Deceit's eyes it is transformed. He's seeing both himself and Annae for the first time, and he realizes they are beautiful.

As things progress Annae starts to move more freely. It's lovely, the way he thrashes slow or shudders down to his spread toes, but there's a time or two when the substance he floats on wavers a bit more then it should. Becoming just a bit more water then gel.

Never for more then a blink, and as always Roman is impressed, aroused, and a bit terrified by Deceit's focus. Things in daydreams as so easy to lose track of, and when it happens they might shift or dissipate or become something else altogether. The more complex the creation, the further from reality its rules, the greater the risk of it pulling free of control. But every time the tank threatens to lose integrity, Deceit catches it with a speed that Roman, Creativity himself, isn't sure he could match.

 **Especially** not with such a bounty of distractions.

And through it all Deceit pushes Annae to paint his own picture. It should have broken the mood, hearing a cicada, of all things, described in such lavish detail.

The delicate web of the veins in its wings. The dark spots that marked their edges. The deep dark luster of its eyes.

Instead Roman finds himself throbbing, and Annae is so hard it must hurt, the head of his cock more purple then red. It twitches from time to time on its own, dribbling precum that glistens on his belly. When Deceit at last gently traces the vein with a finger Annae garbles out a plea, hips rising as he bumps his cock hopefully against the man's hand.

Deceit does wrap his hand around it...but only cradles that rigid length, chuckling a bit when Annae snarls a curse in his general direction. “You're familiar with sounding, yes?” Deceit asks Roman, and it's Roman who groans and cups himself.

“It's easier to start when flaccid,” Deceit says, and Roman chuckles a bit at how much he sounds like Logan in that moment. “And a bit of a break now will let him go longer and make things more intense later.”

He rubs slow circles on Annae's thigh, soothing him until his breathing starts to slow. Deceit himself breathes smoothly, but there's an almost feverish glint in his eyes that worries Roman. The break is as much for him as Annae, he suspects.

' _He loves them so much_ ,' he thinks, and perhaps it's only Annae's lingering influence, but the thought rouses that same slow, melancholy ache in his chest.

' _You'll be doing all the work_ ,' Deceit had reassured, but that couldn't be further from the truth. The amount of care Deceit pours into maintaining this space, this experience....

He holds nothing back. Gives all of himself with a sincerity that **hurts** to witness. It turns sex into something nearly sacred, and Roman finds himself mourning that he has never been the subject of such devotion.

When Annae softens enough Deceit summons the sound. It's a simple, heavy length of metal with a gentle s-curve, and Deceit positively drenches it and Annae's slit with lube. He feeds it into Annae's urethra and then lets gravity and the sound's own weight do the work.

“Never push,” he tells Roman. Roman winces at the thought; he quite enjoys sounding and is well aware of the risks of trying to force things along.

Deceit works Annae back to hardness, sliding his foreskin gentle along his shaft without much pressure. It's such a pretty sight, that hard length with the heavy steel protruding from the tiny mouth of the slit. Roman shifts uncomfortably. He glances at Deceit and gets a nod; permission. With a click Roman vanishes his clothes, sighing luxurious at the freedom. Deceit, of course, is fully clothed, and if he's in the same state he gives no sign.

Deceit pats Annae's balls twice, chuckling fond when it makes Annae jump.

“The...ugh. The, um...” Annae trails off. Tries to work his hips. Deceit presses him down and gives him absolutely nothing. “The shell!” Annae manages finally, “On the wall...”

“Watch **closely** ,” Deceit commands, “This part will take practice, but I'm sure you'll both enjoy it.”

He sets to work with the sound. Sliding it ever so gently in and out. Adjusting the angle, sometimes pulling it out entirely to add more lube before sliding it back in.

He **tortures** Annae. Brings him right to the edge again and again. Has Roman make note of how his thighs strain and his balls draw up as he starts to get close. The smaller tells too, how Annae bites at his lip and scrunches his nose.

Deceit never lets him tip over. Keeps him suspended in the grip of that terrible, exquisite pleasure. And each time he eases off he pats twice, pulling from Annae a litany of small wonders.

How the light had shone through the thin wall of the cicada's husk.

The split down its hunched back.

The way it clung so tightly with tiny dead claws.

“I can't!” Annae finally wails, “I...Dee, I... **please**.”

The gel ripples. Becomes almost firm as Deceit pushes Annae down into it with all his arms and strength.

And then the bastard takes the tip of the sound between his lips and **hums**. At the same time, he reaches up and releases the clamps from Annae's nipples.

Annae outright **screams**. Deceit pulls back as cum oozes out around the sound and dribbles down Annae's shaft and across his glove. A half dozen rough strokes and Roman follows, and he can't even bring himself to feel guilty about practicing his self-promise of restraint.

Deceit slides the sound free and tosses it aside.

And Annae **breaks**.

Deceit had warned Roman that tears were likely, but he'd expected a gentle sort of weeping. Annae sounds like he's being gutted. Let's loose with a wounded animal howl and reaches up with shaking hands.

Roman shoots up in alarm, but Deceit is already there. He plucks Annae from the tank and shifts to sit on the floor with Thomas' Sorrow curled in his lap. “He's fine, he's fine,” he reassures Roman, “Good, even.”

Good? This was **good**?

...perhaps so, because Annae is starting to laugh. Still sobbing too, but he nuzzles up close to Deceit and giggles like a drunkard.

“Cicada,” he chokes out on a sputtering chuckle. Deceit just holds him, engulfs him, lets him laugh and cry and babble on about how silly the insect had looking as it flew off, heavy and bumbling.

“Understand?” Deceit asks as he had before.

But this time his eyes are shrewd, and Roman knows he wants an answer. He starts to speak...then hesitates, realizing a knee-jerk response won't do. Deceit rewards his restraint with a smile.

“The first part is obvious,” he says, “You take away his senses to heighten the rest of it.”

He can remember his own time in the tank vividly, how aware he'd become of every breath and the best of his own heart. He could imagine what touch would have felt like, or the prickling drag of the Wartenberg wheel.

“And then you have him focus on something. Something small?”

Deceit nods. “Something Thomas found pleasant.”

“Something **now** ,” Roman adds, “And then...” He hesitates again, trying to find the right way to word it. “...and then you make him live in it.”

Deceit's smile grows, and pride swells in Roman's chest.

“Sorrow is perfuse,” Deceit tells him. In his lap Annae is starting to calm, though now and then his shoulders jerk with a sudden sob or a fresh peal of giggling rings out. Deceit rubs his back through both, looking remarkably unperturbed considering. “Anger can come and go in a flash, and fear builds on itself, but sorrow...it's so easy for him to get stuck in it. The goal, as you say, is to get him out of his head. To make him find joy in the little, easy moments, and remind him that those moments come every day.”

Annae is down to sniffles when Deceit gently pulls away the earplugs. He whispers little things close by his ear. That he is good, that he's done well, that he is cherished. And Annae, who would normally deflect or outright refuse any hint of praise, sinks into it. He lets himself be loved...

...and Deceit has so very much love to give.

When Annae at last goes lax Deceit vanishes the blindfold, but his hand is already there to cover Annae's eyes to ease the transition. He spreads his fingers little by little, and when he finally removes it entirely Annae blinks owlishly over at Roman.

“Cicida,” Annae tells him, with all the savor of a private joke. They laugh together, and it is funny, really, how much beauty hides all around them, just waiting to be found.

Isn't that part of what Deceit has been teaching him? Not just to look but to **observe**. To see the other sides as clearly as Annae saw the cicada. He sees now how Annae's temples are dusted with fine, gray fur. He sees the delicate variations in Janus' scales, a mottling of greens and yellows and umbers, and thinks he must have been blind before to miss such a marvel.

“Come now,” Deceit says when Annae seems to have wrung himself dry again, “Bed.”

He shifts Annae in his arms. Holds him close and stands, grunting a little at the effort. They pass the tank along the way, and Deceit glances over.

“I've got it,” Roman hastens to tell him. He hadn't been allowed to summon anything...not this time, when he didn't know the specifics of each piece of equipment. Next time, maybe. But sending things back into the ether of Thomas' mind takes energy too, and he can take that burden, at least.

Because while Annae looks pleasantly sleepy, Deceit looks **drained**. Sen yesterday, Virgil the day before that. And tomorrow...

Well, Roman is trying not to think too hard about tomorrow.

Deceit settles himself on the bed with Annae still curled against him. “Water?” he says to Roman, “Some cold to drink, and a basin of warm. Oh, and washcloths, very soft.”

It's little enough to ask, but it warms Roman that Deceit is willingly letting him help. Annae yawns wide as Deceit coaxes him to drink. Roman vanishes the wax, and Deceit wipes Annae down with absolute tenderness.

“He prefers to bathe after he wakes,” he says, “There's one last thing...”

He helps Annae lay down on his side. Spoons close behind him, nudging one of Annae's legs up to open him. “Lube, thinner gloves,” he tells Roman, not a question this time.

Deceit doesn't linger long over prepping him. Even so, Annae is blinking heavy lidded by the time Deceit pulls his fingers free.

Deceit fumbles to open his zipper without moving away from Annae. Clicks and grimaces deeply. Almost a wince, but he pushes inside before Roman can see what he's changed.

“He needs the closeness now,” he says. He's not thrusting as much as rocking, a gentle pulse of the hips. “Just until he falls asleep.”

Annae sighs contently. Relaxes wholly, cocooned in Deceit and kept safe. He smiles across at Roman. Stretches out a hand in a childish 'gimmie' motion. Roman clambers up onto the bed, but he's surprised when Annae pushes at him to turn. He arranges them so that Roman is on his side, being spooned by Annae as Annae is spooned by Deceit.

He feels Annae sigh against his nape. Feels the touch of his lips, a barely there kiss. Roman can feel the slow rocking as Deceit moves, and it's more comforting then arousing. 

“Thank you,” Annae whispers in his ear.

Roman slides his hand along the arm draped over his chest. “Thank **you** ,” he whispers back, “For showing me the cicada.”

* * *

Deceit is right.

It takes practice.

Even just the tank. Too often Roman loses concentration, but in those early sessions Deceit is always there to set things to rights.

The timing too. There's a rhythm to it. Ask Annae for a description too often, and he would run dry before his body reached its peak. Leave too much of a space between, and that moment they are striving to build falls to ruin.

And of course it takes practice to keep Annae there on the cusp. Roman has edged his fellow light sides plenty of times, but he knows them, every spasm and twitch and moan. And Annae, sensitive as he is...it's easy to push him over unwittingly. Which means he gets physical pleasure but no release, and Roman feels the guilt keenly every time it happens.

But he watches and he learns, and there comes a day when Deceit steps back. No sound, that session, just Roman's own hand and the solid, velvet warmth of Annae's cock. He cups his balls with the other, feels the way they try to draw up close and backs off again and again.

Later, cradling a sobbing Annae close, he grins wide at Deceit.

Deceit smiles back, but it's soft and small and strange. It takes Roman a moment to understand the shadow in his eyes.

Melancholy.


End file.
